


As the seasons turn

by FruitBird (Fruitbird15)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drabble, M/M, Married Life, Seasons, Some sexual content but nothing explicit, fjorclay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23784040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fruitbird15/pseuds/FruitBird
Summary: Ultimately, it takes him a couple of years, to truly see how Caduceus cleaved to the seasons, the turning of the earth.((Caduceus changes with the seasons. Fjord loves his husband no matter the time of year.))
Relationships: Caduceus Clay/Fjord
Comments: 9
Kudos: 164





	As the seasons turn

He goes with Caduceus, in the end, after the adventure is over. Goes to the healing Grove. It's not the life he expected, living in a graveyard, learning burial rites. But there's happiness there, a deep feeling of contentment, of settling down and resting. 

Fjord and Caduceus make their handfasting vows in the spring, the Nein as rowdy and gleeful as ever, the scent of flowers and moss all around him as he offers his soul to a gentler pact than the one the Snake could ever offer. 

And as the pace of his life slows (and he's glad for that, truly. An adventurers life is hard, and some things even healing magic can't fix forever. His body aches deeply some mornings) he notices something about Caduceus that he'd never had time to notice in the adventure, clearer now that Caduceus is home, really home.

Ultimately, it takes him a couple of years to find the patterns, to truly see how Caduceus cleaved to the seasons, the turning of the earth.

Spring Caduceus was wild and energetic, the lichen in his hair bright and pink as sunrise. The first to rise and the last to sleep, bustling through the Grove, planting seeds and digging graves, dancing skyclad under spring moons, laughing with wild joyous abandon. (Fjord joins him for those, the shyness taught by a hard life quickly forgotten.) He's never still, always moving and Fjord can barely keep up. It's dizzying and exhausting and he loves it. Fjord watches him trot with a skip in his step through the gravestones and the snow melts under his hooves, green shoots pushing their way up towards the sun, and Caduceus's laugh is bright and loud. His eyes outshine even the sun, to Fjord.

He's passionate, in so many ways. Fjord thinks he's never made love as many times in his _life_ as he does in spring, Caduceus taking him in so many ways, until they're both spent and drunk with pleasure, tracing each others skin with warm fingers until the desire rises again, as inevitable as the sap rising in the greening trees.

Summer settles him a little, and he moves through the Grove with an easy grace. Lichen and moss begin creeping up his robes as he brushes his fingers over the newly lush trees of the woods. There's a calm to him, a soothing presence, comforting and settling those bereaved who come bearing their dead. Spring Caduceus chatters, summer Caduceus _listens_ , in that way that makes him open up as he has for no one else. The smell of summer flowers and warm winds seems to follow him as he tends to the grave. 

The passion of spring mellows, calmer but no less heated and warm. Love making is slow, calm, an unhurried thing, leaving Fjord shouting his bliss shamelessly to the Grove. This is worship of a kind, he thinks distantly, his husband inside him, cradling him in slim, safe arms. He feels the whisper of Melora's approval as he shakes apart. Such things are natural, after all.

Summer Caduceus is warm smiles and laughing eyes and playful dips in the still pond.

He first met Caduceus in the autumn. It's still his favorite season. Lichen and moss grow deeper over him, weaving delicate filigrees of fungus over his robes. It is the season of decay, the clerics domain, and he feels the weft of the Firbolgs power grow stronger. The pace of his life slows slightly, his steps more measured. The euphoria of spring and the warmth of summer cool to a calmness, a distance that doesn't feel cold, just...Caduceus, thoughts wandering down unbidden tracks.

There's an almost fey edge to him, as he wanders through the gravestones, kicking up dead leaves and delighting in their rustle. He seems more like a nature spirit, drifting through the woods as leaves tumble around him and the cooling wind rustles the trees. The smell of leaf mold and apples follows him. Caduceus spends hours away from the house some days, simply wandering, taking in the world, a trail of gentle decay in his wake. His strangeness is familiar. It's how he knew him first, wise but otherworldly, calmly dropping in some macabre insight on the nature of decay out of nowhere.

Fjord loves him for it. Loves that contrast between his gentle hands and soft lips and his musings on what flowers would grow on his husbands corpse. 

Autumn is also the season for abundance too, and Caduceus comes back from his aimless rovings more often than not with the front of his robes bulging with mushrooms and nuts and fruits. Fried mushrooms becomes a comfort food.

He loves autumn most of all.

Winter Caduceus is quiet, truly distant now. The pink lichen in his hair dies back, waiting dormant in a few hidden patches near his scalp. His hair and fur become stark white, the only colour his pink eyes, gazing at some far off horizon. 

Some days Caduceus can't even muster the energy to leave his bed, and Fjord plies him with tea, cuddles next to him to share the warmth, triumphing at every small smile. It's not a sadness, he feels. More of a...winding down. A waiting. As dormant as the bare trees outside, biding their time. 

The Nein visit sometimes, of course, and the thick snow prompts merriment, snow men contests and snowball fights. Caduceus watches from the doorway, leaning on his staff as though an old, old man and smiles faintly, watching their joy. It's enough, for him. 

What graveyard chores he has the energy for show just how faded he is, white fur against white snow. He leans on Fjord as though he's the only warm thing in the world, and his heart aches at the thought of all those winters he must have spent alone.

There's no love-making in winter, and Fjord is grateful, feeling how cold and worn thin he is. Caduceus only smiles faintly.

(“This is the way of it, Fjord. I've seen many winters. The earth sleeps, and is reborn, and dies and sleeps again. It all comes full circle. You'll see.”) 

Fjord kisses him then, and holds him closer to his warmth, drawing the blankets around them in a warm cocoon. 

Waiting for spring once more.


End file.
